


You Are Not Alone

by emiliaf25 (emiliaf24)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Brotherly Love, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Whump, Connor Needs A Hug, Connor is an idiot, From: Road Paved With DBH Shit Posts, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Graphic Description of Injury, Hurt Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Nines - Freeform, Nines is still learning how to person, Prompt: Stitches, Protective Hank Anderson, Protective Upgraded Connor | RK900, RK Bros, Tumblr Prompt, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Has a Different Name, Whump, Whumptober 2019, Worried Hank Anderson, hospital phobia, with good reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:00:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22568236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emiliaf24/pseuds/emiliaf25
Summary: Connor learns (through error and more error) the amazing benefits of just sitting back and letting his family help
Relationships: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 18
Kudos: 281





	You Are Not Alone

“ _You are…my fire. The one…desire_ \- hooo! Ok. Just a few more. Come on Connor…”

Stitching the inside of his own arm while he sang old 1990’s pop music to distract himself from the pain was _not_ how Connor had planned to spend his day off today, but anti-android protesters had no care if your days to relax are few and far between, nor if you were simply minding your own business and _literally_ stopping to smell some roses.

This had to be Connor’s most embarrassing injury to date - sliced like a block of cheese because he’d been so enamored by pretty flowers - but thankfully his only one. After their initial little surprise attack, Connor was able to quickly and efficiently beat his civil rights into their thick prejudice skulls. He then proceeded to lecture the three hogtied men about all the laws they’d just broken, and all the more productive things they could be doing today instead of harassing people. Like, and this was off the top of his head, volunteering at a senior center, or planting trees at their local park, or protesting against conglomerates that irresponsibly flooded the market and caused the economic crisis that incited your rage filled stabbing in the first place. 

For instance.

That was the scene Officer Wilkes walked up to, right at the tail end of Connor’s impassioned thesis on how the three men were scientifically and mathematically proven to be pieces of shit. He commiserated with Connor about the running superstition that cops only ever got attacked during vacation time, took Connor’s statement, and sent him on his way. Wilkes was an amiable enough man and was always cordial with Connor, but, like most of the kinder humans at the precinct, knew little to nothing about android anatomy aside from some basic first aid. If he did, then he probably would have insisted Connor go to an Android Care Facility. 

And that was absolutely out of the question.

Connor sucked in unneeded air through his teeth, gritting them so hard he could hear the squeak/grind of them, as the thread slowly slithered through the umpteemth hole he voluntarily punctured into himself. Yet again he cursed his past self for not replenishing his supplies of Flex Tape. Was it a better solution than going to the ACF? No. Would it stop the bleeding any faster than sloppily sewing himself up like an abused stuffed toy? Still no. But at least he could watch Animal Planet while he wallowed in pain and his bad decision making skills. He was going to miss the Puppy Bowl highlight reel and first draft pick at this rate! 

Darnit! His Fantasy League was _done!_ He might as well hand over the eighty bucks to Jack now and spare himself the humiliation.

“ _Believe… when I_ _say_ \- ”

“ _I want it thaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat ahhhhh-waaaaaaaaaaaaaYYYY!_ ”

Connor started, a noise that sounded like a cross between a blender and microphone feedback from his throat as he stabbed the needle through the wrong part of his chassis.

Oh no. He recognized that off key tenor; Hank was outside.

Connor wanted to have himself patched up and pretending like nothing happened _before_ Hank got home. What was he doing back so early? He had been doing so well staying his entire shift why was he -

A check at his internal clock: 7:30PM.

No. _Noooooo_. Connor had been at this for two hours!? He’d missed the entire pUpPy BoWl FU - !!!

“ _Tell me why-heeee! Ain’t nothin’ but a heaaaart achhhheeeeee_ \- damnit, that song still _slaps_.” Hank trudged inside, two bags of groceries clutched precariously to his chest. “Con wanna help me out - ah hey. What’s got you down kid?”

Connor had slumped over with his forehead on the table, deciding to move his wallowing session to right here and right now. “I missed the pre-game show.”

“‘The fuck are you talkin’ about the Gears don’t play tonight - oh. Oh my god you mean the dog show, don’t you?”

“ _Puppy Bowl_ ,” Connor sulkily corrected.

Hank came into the kitchen to set the bags down on the counter. Nines soon entered the house as well, effortlessly holding the remaining six bags of groceries. Right. Today was Friday, and Nines had won their last sparring match, so it was his turn to cook and pick the movie. Left to their own devices, Connor would only cook healthy food and pick Kung Fu and animal movies, while Nines would concoct the most delicious, decadent, high in fat meals and pick a barbie movie or anything horrifically violent - the more hopeless the ending the better. And since Hank was a coward and didn’t want to be a tie breaker, sparring was the best way to settle on choices with the least amount of sass.

But with the way his day had been going, Connor wasn’t sure if he would be able to get as invested in Barbie: Fairytopia as he normally would.

“You know they’re gonna air repeats all week ri - hoLY SHIT!”

Connor lifted his head from the table at Hank’s cry. The older man’s horrified face matched his tone. He was finally in full view of the mess at the kitchen table. 

“Oh. Yea. Also this happened,” Connor said dully, gesturing to the annoyance that was the inside of his forearm and halfway up to his armpit, needle poking out of it and all.

Hank unfroze from his shock and rushed over to him. “Jeee- _SUS_. Wilkes said it was just a scratch that fuckin’ moron…” He sat down and gently lifted his arm by the wrist and elbow, turning it back and forth to get a good look at the wound.

“Officer Wilkes may have assumed that my healing program would take care of this relatively quickly.”

“ _Oh_.” Hank spared him a flat glance before going back to examining his arm. “I wonder who didn’t correct him of that assumption?”

“Ah. We… _both_ may have had that assumption. At the time.”

“Uh huh.” Hank leaned in closer. He sucked in a sympathetic breath between his teeth. “I should not be able to see that much of your insides. Man, it’s a good thing you don’t feel - ” He pulled out the needle.

Connor flinched. Hank stilled, confused, but instead of carrying on like Connor thought he would (this wasn’t the first time Connor had reacted to dermal stimuli) his eyes narrowed.

“Connoooor,” Hank drawled slowly, voice thick with suspicion. “I thought you said androids don’t feel pain?”

“The RK800 series is able to interpret signals from damaged chassis plates and biocomponents as pain,” Nines blurted out immediately, taking the other seat at the table beside Connor and setting down a bottle of thirium.

Connor stared at his younger brother, eyes blown wide with incredulous betrayal. A good two years of keeping that fact to himself. Exposed in an instant. Without so much as a signal. A by your leave. Snitch! This was - this was straight snitchery!

_“DKJ:FSDJFDKS:JFDS:KJFD:SDJKF:SDJFKD:SGAHHHHHHH!!!!”_

Nines blinked, LED cycling a quick yellow. _“I…did not understand that transmission.”_

Oh great. Now he was keyboard smashing his stream of consciousness. He must have picked that up from Collin.

_“Sorry. What I meant to say was; I did not want Hank to know that.”_

_“Why?”_ Nines shot back, demanding and innocent all at once. He shifted his eyes at Hank and back to Connor, suddenly uneasy. _“Is the Lieutenant not trustworthy?”_

“ _No!_ ” Connor said hurriedly. “ _No we can trust Hank. I just…didn’t want to worry him._ ”

“ _I do not understand. Several sources indicate that family members are expected to show various levels of ‘concern’ or ‘worry’ when another member is injured or suffering. Is this not the case?_ ”

“ _That is…true for the most part, yes -_ ”

“ _I am experiencing vast amounts of worry right now. Am I malfunctioning? Are these the incorrect emotions to be feeling?_ ”

_“No no no you are reacting appropriately Nines! It’s just….”_

Nines’ eyebrows shifted, imploring. Connor knew he would hang off his every word. But. How to explain what he didn’t fully understand himself? How did he explain the strange, quasi mindset of “ _it’s not like I’m dying, so why bring it up?_ ” he was constantly in, but could never acknowledge its existence unless he examined it in retrospect? His fear that Hank would not believe him to be as durable as previously thought, and therefore would not allow Connor to protect him during critical situations? It would make no sense to Nines’ logic oriented brain. It barely made sense to Connor’s!

And despite his appearance Nines could be…very impressionable. Connor did not want to lie to him, nor did he want him to think Hank unreliable when he had done nothing to deserve such feelings….

 _“It’s…difficult for me to put into words,…”_ he skirted around that kettle of shrimp by hurriedly continuing; _“but it_ ** _is_** _normal for you to be upset when people you care about are hurt, and we can trust Hank,”_ he reiterated. Connor dearly did not want to regress back to the days when Nines was tense and ready to snap Hank’s neck if his motives were even slightly in question. _“Hank is a good man - ”_

“So what, you could feel pain all this time? Even when you were a _machine_!?” Hank’s voice went up in pitch, along with his stress levels. He seemed to be going over every instance Connor had been hurt, which was what Connor had feared would happen once he became privy to this information. 

“A majority of androids _do not_ feel pain, like I said,” Connor said before Hank could get any more worked up. It seemed to be helping…fractionally. “There were former owners, however, who had the feature customized into certain androids, usually to older AX or WR models - ah, housekeeping and sex worker models, that is. It is a very delicate and expensive procedure, and was often only available from third party technicians, so there are few models in distributi - ah I mean; out in the world, who have the ability. The YK500 and the RK800 are the only models pre-installed with it, though most YK500’s can have it turned off - but not without consequences.”

“And you can’t?”

“No. It’s purpose is to determine when to withdraw from an altercation in order to protect my overall structural integrity. It is ingrained in my software.” That was what it said in his manual, anyway. Connor did not like to think about his own theories on the matter. He had enough nightmares.

“ _Tch_. Of course it is,” he grumbled. “And what was all that - drink your thirium you look like you’re about to pass out - and what was that BS you were spilling when we first met then, huh? What was the point of lying about that? Not like I was too chummy with androids back then - I wouldn’t give a fuck if they felt anything.”

Connor took a few big gulps of thirium, as instructed, measuring his words. “My…probability calculator determined otherwise Hank,” he said carefully. He knew Hank wasn’t too fond of Connor’s manipulative tendencies back then. Connor wasn’t too fond of them either. “If I had given you those statistics, small and rare as they were, your empathy would have overridden your hatred towards androids, and your aid in the investigation would have decreased significantly.”

Hank let out a deep sigh that was nearly a growl. He seemed to be withholding (or at least trying to control) his anger in the face of Connor’s injury. Which was good news for Hank’s blood pressure, but not great news for later conversations. Connor’s decision tree foresaw a lot of yelling-esque outcomes in his near future.

Hank let the needle hover over Connor’s chassis. There wasn’t much stitching left to do, but if it were left as it was the entire thing would unravel. Hank was no stranger to stitching up android wounds - he helped patch up the PC200 designated Reggie before when he’d gotten injured during a robbery. Now though, he kept making to puncture the chassis before withdrawing at the last second, checking Connor’s face, and then going through the same motions again. He started muttering to himself. “ _Fuck_. How’m’I supposed to know if I’m hurting you or not? You never make a peep! I’ve seen you take bullets and argue down the price of silverware at the same time!”

“In my defense, we wouldn’t have gotten that discount if I hadn’t taken that call.”

“ _Notevenclosetothepoint_!”

Connor shrank back a little and looked away. He suddenly felt self conscious. “I’m sorry Hank. I was taught during my alpha testing that this was the most appropriate response to internal and external structural damage. It is one of many leftover aspects of machine behavior I am still having difficulty getting rid of. But ah. I have been…trying.”

“Aww fuckin’ A, look kid, you don’t gotta be sorry alright? I _know_ you’re trying - excuse me did you just say _‘taught’_?”

“I did. There were some aspects of my social module that my designers ascertained were better learned rather than set into an algorithm for a more natural, human response.”

Hank was quiet. His expression seemed to be dancing between blankness and horror. Connor was completely baffled by this reaction.

Finally, he said quietly, “Ok. Let’s…tackle one traumatic thing at a time for right now. Swear to God I’m not forgetting that.” Connor blinked in alarm. Traumatic? “What was I saying? Yah uh, alright. It’s like…remember how we talked about critical injuries not being ‘ _superfluous information_ ’ - I count _this_ ,” he gestured at Connor’s arm. Had Hank remained ignorant of his ability to feel pain, he probably would have wiggled it, which would have been tremendously unpleasant. That was at least one positive towards today’s unintentional discovery, “as a critical injury by the way.”

Connor frowned cautiously. A small piece of his processing power was still trying to figure out what about his alpha testing had Hank responding so negatively. “We may need to go over what that constitutes, again.”

Hank closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose. Connor thought he might start yelling at him about common sense and the like, but instead he said; “Yep. Fuck it. We’ll make a list.”

Connor beamed. He very much enjoyed making lists; they were a concise way for him to process the more nuanced “do’s” and “do not’s” of social interaction. He should not have been surprised that Hank was aware of this fact after living together for so long, but caught off guard he was.

“What I’m getting at here is: you don’t gotta suffer in silence - I don’t _want_ you to suffer in silence. And before you say anything - yes, I know there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s - it’s about being…comforting and ah, ya know. That kinda bullshit.”

Connor nodded to spare the normally curmudgeonly man from anymore sentiment. He got the gist of what he was saying. Hopefully.

“Actually, in this case it’s pretty practical. If I hadn’t known you felt all this I would’ve started sewing you up like an old leather boot.” He looked a little green at the thought.

“That is the reason I brought it up in the first place,” Nines said, startling Hank badly (thankfully not enough to accidentally stab Connor in the wrong place). It wasn’t unusual for Nines to stay quiet and still during conversations, to the point of blending into the background. Granted, he may have also activated his stealth mode while he re-determined if Hank was a threat or not, but by the lack of attempted neck snapping the relationship status seemed to still be favorable. “And for this reason as well.” He retracted the synthskin on his hand and took Connor’s, requesting an interface.

The second Connor accepted he slumped over, all of a sudden an android noodle.

Ahhhhhhh-ha-ha-ha _yeaaaaa_. That was the goooood shit.

Nines easily shifted his chair so that Connor could lean on him without yanking his arm out of Hank’s hold and tearing his wound open further.

Hank gaped. “‘The fuck was that?”

“I am inundating his system with memories and emotions associated only with joy and put them on an infinite loop.”

“…you drugged him?”

That was not even remotely close to what was happening. The neurotransmitters in the human brain were comparable but completely different to that of an androids -

“Yes.”

Nines no! Is what Connor wanted to say. Articulately. With the disapproval that statement deserved. Instead:

“…teehee. Teeheehee _hee_!” He tried to frown at his own foolishness. A dopey smile was the result of that attempt.

…alright. No more talking for him today that was fine.

Hank’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline as he looked from Connor to Nines. “Guess android LSD is as good a numbing agent as any.” He started to finish up Connor’s stitching, much more carefully than he had ever patched him up before, and probably more carefully than necessary while Connor was safely “medicated”.

Hank made more noises of sympathy as he unrolled some PlastiTape down the stitching. It was about the same size as human medical tape, but in addition to keeping bandages in place, it’s purpose was to bolster an androids healing program. “Tell me again _why_ you didn’t just go to an ACF? They probably would’ve got this done a lot faster - do they have androidy pain meds there? I dunno if Nines wants to be hanging on your arm all day - ”

Hank stopped short as Nines’ expression shifted into an intense glower. Nines would absolutely hold Connor’s hand all day, night and until next summer if it meant he would feel better, his eyes said, practically holding Hank at knife point, and how dare you for suggesting otherwise.

“Or he _does_ want to - _Jesus Cocksucking Christ_ kid when did you become such a mother hen?” Hank muttered, finishing up the final touches on Connor’s injury by wrapping his arm in gauze. “Stupid question it was like 30 seconds after you deviated.”

“There is no android medication,” Nines said, completely ignoring Hank’s jab. “To receive treatment for pain relief, you must visit an ACF. They have a more intrusive machine that works similarly to what I am doing now. I am…DIYing their process, essentially.”

“Non…non lethal injuries…take…longer to be…seen to,” Connor managed to say, sans snorting or stuttering, in answer to Hank’s questioning look. He felt a little more adjusted to the onslaught of happiness he was receiving. “I thought…I could do it…myself…fast - _snerk pftttt heeheeHEE_ \- ” He sluggishly turned into Nines’ shoulder to muffle the sudden giggle fit. Connor sincerely wished he had a consistent reaction to Nines’ replication of pain treatment at the ACF. Sometimes he was perfectly coherent, if not a little laggy in his response time, other times he was so exhausted he would go in and out of stasis and his vocal module would be full of barely comprehensible static, and still others he was the giggly little stoner he was at this moment.

Hank pat his hand gently and gave him a commiserating smile. “Yea yea, I get it kid. Android ER is as bad as ours.”

 _“The amount of time it would have taken you to see a technician would have been equivalent to the amount of time it took you to do your own repairs,”_ Nines persisted.

 _“I miscalculated the timing, I forgot to factor in certain ah…outside inhibitors.”_ i.e. thirium loss and the fact that it hurt like a bitch would slow him down considerably.

Nines’ skepticism flowed through their link. The RK900 was likely thinking that it was unusual for Connor to leave out such obvious variables in his calculations.

There were times when his younger brother severely underestimated Connor’s net worth of stupidity when it came to taking care of himself. This was 100% one of those times.

Connor pushed as much sincerity as he could back at him. His systems were probably going to force a soft reboot or a short stasis cycle if he kept pushing his processing power like this, but he would very much prefer if Nines moved away from this topic. Yes, Connor was being truthful, but he also did not want to reveal his deathly fear of going to any Android Care Facility.

And _yes,_ Connor was fully aware that his fear was ridiculous and completely irrational. Just because _one_ tech had tried to kill him in the name of vengeance while he was in their care, did not mean that he would be attacked and murdered at _every_ facility. Besides, he had reported the tech (anonymously of course) for their misconduct, in case this wasn’t a “I only kill Deviant Hunters named Connor series -51” one time thing and they actually went around harming other innocent androids for perceived slights. Which, the last Connor had checked, turned out to be the case, and the tech was summarily fired and arrested for it.

Still, even with that knowledge, Connor had not set foot in an ACF since then, no matter any viruses he caught or damage he sustained. And he did not foresee himself doing it voluntarily in the near future.

So Connor pushed as much sincerity as he could through the connection. Because Nines had no love to spare for androids, and the last thing he wanted was for his little brother to declare war on New Jericho in Connor’s name.

 _“ACF’s **are** generally inefficient. I can see why you would miscalculate so severely if you were also factoring in their incompetence.”_ Nines finally said. _“You should contact me the next time you are injured to this degree, if you are not within easy access of DPD emergency services. I am a much better alternative.”_

 _“Of course,”_ Connor said easily. As long as Nines was nearby and not inconvenienced by their distance. And he was not preoccupied with an important task. Or work. Or one of his hobbies. Or during a stasis cycle, which his brother _did not_ partake in enough of, even though more studies were showing that it directly correlated in healthy stress level regulation.

Barring those conditions yes obviously he would definitely ask Nines for assistance Connor wasn’t some _martyr_ he valued his existence the same as any other deviant.

The three of them moved to the couch. Nines insisted they watch Enter the Dragon while Hank ordered a pizza. Connor tried to protest against this: he was going to be in and out of a stasis cycle anyway, so Nines would not need to stay attached to him if he still wanted to cook, and both of them could watch whatever they wanted.

“Your stasis cycle and healing program will take up less processing power if I maintain the interface,” Nines said.

“And whoever’s sick negates everybody else’s turn during movie night and get’s the pick. Sorry I don’t make the rules,” Hank added.

Connor did not recall that rule in the _Communal Movie Night Guide So Nobody Will Whine About Nothin_ , which were as vast as they were arbitrary. Re-watches of any Quentin Tarantino movies had to be spaced out within a month of each other, for example. He also suspected that Nines merely wanted to eat the greasy pizza box, if the perked interest Connor felt through their interface when Hank started to dial the number for Round Table was any indicator.

Connor was feeling rather cozy though, sandwiched between Hank and Nines, hopped up on literal happiness. He decided not to fuss any longer, and just enjoy family time.

**Author's Note:**

> For more updates, fic shorts, headcanons, asks, and other nonsense check out my tumblr at: https://emiliaf25.tumblr.com/


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